


Jeeves and the Serious Consequences

by skyblue_reverie



Series: skyblue_reverie's jeeves & wooster 'verse [2]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyblue_reverie/pseuds/skyblue_reverie
Summary: A sequel to The Matter of Mr Wooster's Headaches. A Bertie POV this time, plus kinky tie bondage!





	Jeeves and the Serious Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Jeeves and the Serious Consequences (since the obvious title, 'Jeeves and the Tie that Binds' was already taken *g*)  
> Author: skyblue_reverie  
> Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster  
> Pairing: J/W  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Word Count: Approximately 10,500  
> Summary: A sequel to my first fic, The Matter of Mr Wooster's Headaches. A Bertie POV this time, featuring Aunt Agatha and Stiffy Byng and kinky tie bondage, oh my. (Er, but the bondage does not involve Aunt A. or Stiffy. *shudder*)  
> Disclaimer: Still not mine.  
> Author’s Notes: Posted to LJ in 2006, just now x-posting to AO3.
> 
> Podfic available! http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/jeeves-and-serious-consequences

In general, I pretty much let Jeeves run things. He's rather good at it, you see, and I've found that things tend to tick along pretty smoothly when he's in charge, whereas when I bung in my two bits, things have the strangest way of getting all mucked up, often ending with me in the clink or engaged, and I don't know which is worse. Still, in some matters one has to put one's foot down. Ever since we got back from our honeymoon in Yorkshire things had gone swimmingly, what with all the kissing, and, ah, other activities, and even the soulful gazing into each other's eyes. There had been no Honoria Glossops, Madeline Bassetts, or Florence Crayes on the horizon to disturb our cosiness, and even the Aunts had been blessedly noticeable in their absence. In short, things were far too perfect. Some major disaster was bound to be looming. It all started with that tie.

I see I've gone and bungled it again by beginning in the middle of things. Probably the reader is scratching his head by now and wondering if he has missed something in a previous narrative _in re_ the new chumminess between Wooster and his gentleman's personal gentleman. Well, I've rather come to an understanding with Jeeves, one that he tells me is not totally unheard of between man and valet, but one that polite society nevertheless frowns upon. He's written up the whole thing, and done a much better job of it than I could have done, seeing as how I was sort of unaware of the thing happening until it hit me over the head rather late in the third act. You should read it, only you can't, because Jeeves guards the thing with his life and insists it must never be known. In fact, I suppose you aren't reading _this_ either, because Jeeves tells me that any memoir I write that mentions our rather matey relations will be going straight into the lockbox with his reminiscence. But since you can't be reading this, I'm not sure who it is that I'm speaking to. I'm afraid I'm rather confused now, so I'll just get back to telling my story.

As I say, normally I let Jeeves have his way. But when it comes to matters sartorial, the chap tends to be rather stuffy. I had just purchased a perfectly spiffing tie, sort of a bright chartreuse with a pattern of cheery magenta tulips. Just the sort of thing that would make a splash at the Drones. Jeeves had taken quite an unfair instant dislike to the thing. Nevertheless, despite my warm feelings for the man, in this situation, I had to assert my position as master. After our usual morning, er, exercise, Jeeves had brought me tea (I've offered to fetch the tea for us myself, but he won't hear of it. The old feudal spirit coming to the fore, don't you know) and was laying out my raiment for the day.

‘I say, Jeeves,’ I said, after slurping down a cupful of the morning brew. 

‘Yes, sir?’ he queried, looking down at yours truly with almost-concealed fondness. I daresay the average bystander on the street might not have been able to see it (should said bystander somehow find himself in my _boudoir_ ), but knowing him as I do now, the man is an open book to me.

‘I think I shall wear that new tie of mine. The one with the flowers.’ 

The fondness dropped away in an instant. ‘I am not certain which tie you mean, sir,’ he said, although he jolly well _did_ know. I hadn't got any other new ties with a flower pattern.

‘You know, the one with those cheerful little tulip whatsits,’ I said. ‘It's on the top shelf of the wardrobe, I can see it from here.’ I got out of bed and began shoving on the old vestments as he went over to the wardrobe.

‘Are you quite certain you wish to wear _this_ tie?’ he asked, voice positively dripping with disdain. He was holding the thing at arm's length in front of him as if it held some deadly contagion.

‘Of course I'm sure,’ I said stoutly. 

‘I believe, sir, that there may be serious consequences if you wear this tie,’ he said. He had the rummiest look on his face, sort of a dangerous glitter in his eye. 

‘Oh, stuff and nonsense,’ I said airily. ‘Well, give it here, then,’ I said when he made no move to hand it to me. He handed it over reluctantly, and didn't even help me get the knot to its normal state of Jeevesian perfection, a sign of how peeved he was. 

I knotted the thing myself and informed Jeeves that I was going out for a few hours, ignoring his chilly silence. I let myself out of the flat with a resolutely cheery ‘Tinkerty-tonk,’ and I meant it to sting. 

It's a sign of how perturbed I was that I completely forgot to eat breakfast before I left the flat. Without having got outside an egg or two and a rasher of b., I was feeling decidedly hollow. Still, having made rather an exit, I couldn't pop back in now and ask Jeeves to cook up a plateful for me. So I wandered around Hyde Park for a while, then headed over to the Drones.

I had a topping lunch at the club and spent some time playing darts with Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. We kept tying at three games apiece. Funny thing, that. I legged it back home around mid-afternoon, hoping that, seeing as how a. makes the h. grow f., Jeeves might have softened towards the young master and his tie after they had been a. for a few hours.

‘What ho, Jeeves,’ I said as I came in. I made sure the door was closed behind me and then biffed over and gave him a peck on the cheek. He accepted it with dignity but quickly stepped back. He glared balefully at my tie before moving his gaze to a spot above my right shoulder. It seemed that it caused the poor fellow physical pain just to look at the thing.

‘While you were out, sir, Mrs Gregson telephoned with instructions for us to join her at Totleigh Towers this evening. At her behest, Miss Madeline Bassett has extended you an invitation.’ 

I received this news with some alarm. ‘What do you say, Jeeves? Time to head out of the old metrop.? Catch a boat to America? Toddle over to the continent? Anything but Totleigh Towers, Jeeves,’ I said with a shudder.

‘I have already informed Mrs Gregson that you will be at Totleigh Towers in time for dinner, sir.’

‘But Jeeves! Dash it all, why would you go and say something like that?’ 

‘I am afraid, sir, that she would not hear of any excuses. She was most insistent. If you take the car and leave now, you will be in time for dinner. I will pack your bags and follow on the evening train, sir,’ he said coolly.

There was no doubt about it. Jeeves was pipped.

‘Oh, all right,’ I said, giving in gracefully. ‘I suppose I'll see you this evening, then.’ And off I went.

***

I suppose I'd better set the scene a little to give you an idea of what I found at Totleigh Towers. To start with, I'll tell you that the very name of the place strikes an ominous bell in the Wooster heart, as it has been the _situs_ of several of my most ghastly jams. (In fact, you may recall a certain incident involving a cow creamer, the memory of which still sends shivers down my spine and causes me to break out in a cold sweat.) I suppose the estate is rather a fine example of the breed, with picturesque grounds, well-kept stables, and whatnot. The structure itself is rather hulking and Gothic, however – it's the sort of place where one half expects to find some ravingly looney female shut up in the attic.

The current inmates included one Sir Watkyn Bassett, Justice of the Peace and founding member of the Down With Bertram Wooster Society. He once fined me five pounds for nicking a policeman's helmet, you see, and has been convinced ever since then that I'm an absolute rotter. Then there was his daughter, Madeline Bassett, the soppiest female you are ever likely to meet, who has set her matrimonial sights on me not a few times, much to my dismay. Luckily, she was currently engaged to Gussie Fink-Nottle, fellow Drone, newt fancier, and, as Jeeves might put it, sensitive plant (I'd be more likely to say ‘fatuous fat-head,’ but there you are), who was staying at Totleigh as well. My Aunt Agatha was staying down there, as you'll have gathered from the fact that the summons came from her in the first place. No doubt you recall Aunt Agatha from my previous narratives, but if not, I'll just tell you that she makes the nastiest, scaliest dragon ever to _flambé_ a knight seem like a harmless fluffy kitten in comparison. Finally, there was Stephanie Byng, called Stiffy by all and sundry, Madeline's cousin and Sir Watkyn's ward, a topping girl, but as dangerous in her own way as my Aunt Agatha. Less direct, and more scheming, I mean to say, but still quite a menace to my mental state.

So it was a decidedly less-than-braced Bertram who motored up to Totleigh and presented himself for inspection. I had had a spot of trouble with the car – how was I to know that the thing would get so deuced temperamental if I didn't offer it petrol every other moment? The blighted machine was rather like my pal Chuffy's cousin, that foul young blister Seabury – rather greedy and demanding, I mean to say. Anyway, as a result, I had missed dinner completely and was feeling as empty around the midsection as the Grand Canyon, not to mention still rather cheesed off about the recent coolness from Jeeves, and dreading the entire notion of Totleigh Towers. As soon as I walked in, I was set upon by Aunt Agatha and Stiffy, which improved my mood not a whit. 

‘What-ho, Aunt Agatha! What-ho, Stiffy!’ I said with as much cheer as a fellow could hope to muster when presented with the two of them at the same time.

‘Ah, Bertie, good, you are just in time for the announcement,’ Aunt Agatha pronounced. She looked at me more closely. ‘What _are_ you wearing around your neck? Well, never mind that, there's no time for you to change now. And don't slouch,’ she said, causing me to straighten instinctively.

‘But – Aunt Agatha, I've just arrived, and I'm awfully hungry; can't whatever-it-is wait until I've had a bit of dinner?’ I asked.

At this point Stiffy chimed in. ‘Don't be silly, Bertie, you can eat later. This is the most important moment of our lives – food can wait!’ she said sternly. 

Aunt Agatha beamed at her and said, ‘Dear child, you will manage him quite nicely, I can see. Bertie! Come along!’ This last was, of course, directed at self.

Well, I was completely in the dark, but I knew that this boded ill indeed for old Bertram. I followed Aunt Agatha and Stiffy into the sitting room with trepidation, if that's the word I want.

The entire assemblage was gathered in the sitting room enjoying an after-dinner libation. As soon as we entered, Stiffy said brightly, ‘Here's Bertie now. We have an announcement to make.’

At this point Aunt Agatha opened her mouth and intoned, ‘I am pleased to announce that my nephew, Bertram Wooster, is engaged to be married to Miss Stephanie Byng.’ 

Well, I mean, what? 

***

The next couple of hours passed in a horrific blur. I received congratulations from Gussie, Madeline whispered in my ear how dear I was for being brave and moving on with Stephanie since I couldn't marry _her_ , and Sir Watkyn glared at me as if he'd like to throw the book at me and knock my head clean off with it. Stiffy herself was clinging to my arm like a limpet, which was awfully rum, since the last time I had seen her she had been quite chummy with the Rev. H.P. ‘Stinker’ Pinker, one of my oldest pals. Aunt Agatha was alternating between looking awfully pleased with herself and shooting daggers at me, by way of letting me know that if I dared kick up a fuss I would live to regret it, but not for very long. It's more than any man should have to bear, and especially on an empty stomach! I had never been more relieved in my life when I saw Jeeves arrive.

I pleaded exhaustion and said my goodnights, then trailed Jeeves to the bedroom. 

‘Rally round, Jeeves, I am in most desperate need of your counsel,’ I began as soon as we were alone.

With a few choice words, I explained the posish. ‘Engagement by ambush, Jeeves! It's not sporting, you know,’ I finished.

‘Indeed, sir. Most disturbing.’

‘Well, yes, I know that, Jeeves. But haven't you got any of your brainy ideas? Some corker to get the young master out of the soup?’

‘I'm afraid nothing presents itself at the moment, sir,’ he said.

Stiffy popped into the room. ‘Bertie, I want to have a word with you,’ she said, looking significantly at Jeeves.

‘If you will excuse me, sir,’ he said immediately, and streamed out of the room, leaving me stranded with the backstabbing schemer. I had come within a toucher of being affianced to this young pimple once before, when she used the threat of marrying me to soften up Sir Watkyn to the notion of Stinker as a matrimonial prospect. But she had never gone and made the thing public! This was beyond the pale.

I wasted no time. ‘Well, I like this,’ I said. ‘Deserting poor Stinker and foisting yourself off on me – ‘ I began, working up a head of steam. She cut me off abruptly.

‘Oh, do shut up, Bertie,’ she said. ‘I have no intention of actually _marrying_ you.’

That rather took the wind out of my sails. ‘What do you mean you're not going to marry me? Then why go about announcing our engagement? And without even a word to me ahead of time. You might have warned a chap, you know!’ I said.

‘Bertie, I'm going to marry Harold. But he simply won't confront Uncle Watkyn properly and insist that he give him a vicarage and his blessing to marry me. After that incident with the silver case, Uncle Watkyn has been quite unfairly prejudiced against Harold. You know how Uncle Watkyn is about his silver, Bertie. But apparently Harold doesn't care enough about me to fight for our love.’ She looked at me through her eyelashes, apparently hoping that this tale of woe would warm the whatsits of my heart. However, we Woosters can be chilled steel when the situation demands it, and I merely gave her the gimlet eye. She dropped the doe-eyed look and continued. 

‘He obviously needs a bit of a push, and this is just the way to provide it. If he thinks that I'm tired of waiting for him, he'll be forced into action. And the only way to accomplish that is to get engaged to somebody else. You weren't my first choice, I'll admit, but since you're here you may as well make yourself useful. Anyway, once Harold comes around, you and I will call off the engagement and you'll be free to continue your dissolute life.’

‘But, Stiffy, consider poor Stinker’s feelings! He'll be despondent, woebegone, and wretched. Disconsolate, I think, would not overstate the case. He will sink into a blue funk, and what's more, he'll think I've stolen his fiancée. Which is something that a Wooster would never do, especially not to an old school chum! It isn't the thing, Stiffy, it isn't the thing at all,’ I said sternly.

She scoffed at this. ‘Harold will be fine in the end, once he gathers up his courage and confronts Uncle Watkyn. It will do him a world of good. Anyway, your Aunt Agatha wanted me to actually marry you, so it's rather lucky for you that I'm not the slightest bit interested.’

‘By-the-by, how did you get Aunt Agatha to go along with your little plan?’ I asked. ‘She's not the most understanding of aunts. Aunt Dahlia, now there's a sporting old girl. She's been known to plot a few treasons, stratagems, and spoils from time to time. But Aunt A.? Your powers of persuasion must be great indeed,’ I said, impressed despite myself.

‘Don't be silly, Bertie, she doesn't know anything about it,’ Stiffy said impatiently.

‘So you mean – she actually thinks we're engaged?’ I asked, horrified.

‘Yes, yes, but you needn't worry. Once Harold has his vicarage, I'll break off the engagement, so she won't be able to blame you,’ Stiffy said.

‘You don't know my Aunt Agatha,’ I groaned. ‘She bally well blames me for the high price of tea and the general state of moral decay in England today. She'll blame me for the breaking off of our engagement as well, and she will dashed well kick.’

‘Well, Bertie, you'll just have to be a man about it. Stiff upper lip and all that,’ Stiffy said, showing not a whit of concern for the terrible trials and tribulations to which I would be subjected as a result of her schemes. 

‘Anyway, thanks ever so much for agreeing to help me. You are a dear,’ she said, patting me on the cheek and slipping out of the room before I could raise any further objections. 

As soon as she left, Aunt Agatha steamed in rather like some seafaring vessel. This was almost more than I could bear in my weakened state. 

‘Bertie, pay attention, this won’t take long. As you know, I have been encouraging you to marry a suitable girl for quite some time. You need moulding. Stephanie Byng is a strong-minded, forceful girl, and just the sort to take you in hand properly. I regret that the engagement had to be arranged in such an unconventional manner, but you simply couldn’t be trusted with the matter yourself.’

‘But, Aunt Agatha – ‘ I began.

‘Not another word. Stephanie will make an excellent wife for you. It has long been a source of unhappiness for me to see you wasting your life on frivolous pursuits. Now, the entire thing has been arranged; all you need to do is carry on in your usual state of spinelessness and Stephanie and I will take care of the rest.’

I was out of fighting spirit. ‘Yes, Aunt Agatha,’ I said meekly.

‘Excellent. Good night, Bertie.’ And with that, she steamed out again.

I sighed and closed the door behind her before donning the pyjamas that Jeeves had laid out before he deserted me to Stiffy and Aunt Agatha's decidedly untender mercies. Then I slid into bed.

***

Well, it hadn't even crossed the old bean until now that staying at Totleigh Towers would mean sleeping in a separate room from Jeeves. I hadn't slept alone since we had reached our understanding, and I had rather got accustomed to having his strong arms wrapped around me as I snoozed. Now, here I was, all alone, nary an s.a. in sight. As a result, I was tossing and turning and having no luck whatsoever in drifting off to the land of Nod. I considered sneaking off to join Jeeves in his quarters, but it occurred to me that I had no idea where his quarters actually were. It would be just my luck to end up in the third chambermaid's bedroom and be forced to marry her at the point of a shotgun wielded by her outraged father, who was probably the head gardener or some such.

I had just resigned myself to a sleepless night when I heard the doorknob rattling quietly. I had a moment of panic, imagining that the head gardener had found me and was coming to march me off with his shotgun, when I remembered I hadn't actually gone and compromised the third chambermaid. 

I relaxed when I saw Jeeves come gliding into the room. He's a decent chap, is Jeeves. Despite our recent falling out regarding my tie, he must have twigged to how difficult it would be for me to get to sleep without him. He always seems to know these things. 

‘Jeeves!’ I said with a glad cry, and held out my arms to him. He locked the door behind him and then sort of materialised in bed next to me, returning my embrace. 

He put his mouth next to my ear and murmured, ‘I am pleased to see you as well, sir, but we must keep our voices down.’

‘Right-ho,’ I whispered. ‘Quiet as church mice shall be the watchword.’

He shimmered out of his clothing, and catching onto his idea, I made quick work of my pyjamas (never let it be said that Bertram is one to keep a gentleman waiting). He pressed me into the bed and began kissing my neck, whispering sweet something-or-others into my ear, and sort of nibbling at it while he was in the vicinity. I sighed happily and wrapped myself around him, rather enjoying the feel of his bare skin against my own. As soon as my legs came up around him, he began pushing his hips against mine in a way that felt absolutely topping, and I had to clench my jaw to stifle the noises that were threatening to burst from my throat.

He planted a series of kisses and bites along my collarbone, all the while keeping up what he was doing with his hips. Then he sucked hard at the junction of my neck and shoulder, and I knew from recent – and deuced pleasant – experience that I would have a stunner of a mark there the next day. This nearly caused me to lose my self-control altogether – as it was, I let out a noise that only the Totleigh hunting dogs could have heard. Our hips were rocking together in a way that was causing the most delightful sensations in my nether regions, and judging from Jeeves's expression, he was feeling quite braced too.

By this time we were like a couple of bally racehorses, blowing hard and racing for the finish line, neck and neck. I got there a bare instant before Jeeves did, both of us exploding rather messily. Jeeves collapsed next to me and we both lay on our backs for a few moments, catching our breath, before he rose and got a damp cloth from the bathroom and gave us both a bit of a wipe down.

This accomplished, he lay back down next to me and pulled me into his arms. After a few more kisses and an exchange of rather embarrassing endearments which I won't repeat here, I filled him in on what had transpired with Stiffy and Aunt Agatha.

‘So, Jeeves, surely some inspired plan has popped into that fantastic brain of yours,’ I said.

‘I'm afraid I shall need to think on it, sir,’ he said. This was a bit disappointing, but not totally unprecedented. I had confidence that he would come through with the good stuff before long. 

I sighed contentedly and ran my finger down his charmingly crooked nose. Somehow the imperfection of that one feature in his otherwise flawless face only added to his attractiveness and overall… thingness. I stretched luxuriously and squirmed a bit closer into his embrace. 

‘I don't suppose you can stay the night, Jeeves,’ I said, knowing the answer already.

‘No, sir, I'm afraid that would be impossible,’ he said. ‘However, I shall stay until you are asleep.’

‘All right then, goodnight, Jeeves,’ I whispered. ‘I love you, you know, old thing.’

‘And I, you, sir,’ he said. With his hand stroking my brow, I soon drifted off.

***

I spent the next few days in a state of misery. I avoided Sir Watkyn and Aunt Agatha as best I could, and endured Madeline's pitying glances and Gussie's newt-related prattling. During all of this, Jeeves was remarkably scarce. I saw the fellow only when he came to bring me my morning tea or dress me for dinner, and when he came to my room late at night, leaving after I had fallen asleep. I could only imagine that the poor chap must have felt dreadfully guilty about not being able to think of any canny idea to get me out of my engagement to Stiffy. Whenever I asked him about it, he would only say that he was still cogitating on a solution. I began to entertain doubts about that marvelous brain of his, and I recommended that he eat more fish so as to get back into top form.

The worst part of the ordeal was when I encountered Stinker, as I knew I would. Stiffy made sure to parade me in front of him, kissing me on the cheek and clutching at my arm while expounding upon my manly courage, gumption, and general force of character. Well, I mean to say, anyone who knew me could tell that it was absolute rot, but poor Stinker just looked at both of us miserably and wished us every happiness. This only made Stiffy angrier, while I wanted to drop to my knees and beg the chap's forgiveness for stealing his girl.

Well, after a few days of this, I had had enough. I wasn’t impressed with the ethics of Stiffy’s plan, but I had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, especially seeing as how I hadn’t been given much choice. But it didn’t seem that her plan was quite coming along the way she had expected, and I had no desire to remain engaged to her indefinitely while she hung about waiting for poor Stinker to whack up the ginger to confront Sir Watkyn, as it seemed to me that this might occur right about the time that the trump announcing Final Judgment had been sounded.

After another excruciatingly awkward encounter with Stinker in the village, wherein he tripped over a rubbish bin, a park bench, and a neighbourhood cat in his haste to get away from me, I returned to Totleigh Towers and pulled Stiffy aside.

‘Stiffy, your plan, while no doubt a corker, does not appear to be having the desired effect,’ I said. ‘In fact, rather the opposite. Stinker hasn’t become so fired up with love for you that he buttonholed Sir Watkyn and demanded his blessing to marry you – in fact, he rather looks like a half-drowned puppy who has been kicked repeatedly.’

‘I’m so angry with Harold I could just scream,’ Stiffy said. ‘What does it take to inspire that man to action? Apparently his devotion to me is not as deep as I believed. Now that I know his true character, Bertie, I’m not sure I want to marry him after all. In fact, I’ve been thinking that your Aunt Agatha may be right. Perhaps I could make something of you.’ She looked at me speculatively.

I reared back in alarm. ‘I say! Now wait just a minute!’ 

‘It's true, you aren't what I would have hoped for in a husband, but if Harold doesn't care about me enough to do this one simple thing, then I'm better off without him. I'll give Harold another day, and if he doesn't confront Uncle Watkyn, then I shall resign myself to marrying you.’ With this grim pronouncement, she stalked off, leaving me not very gruntled, and far from plussed as well.

***

The next day dawned cold and gray, which suited my mood to a T. There had been no sign of Stinker suddenly receiving an injection of vim and vigour and racing in to beard Sir Watkyn in his lair. As a result, I was markedly lacking in v. and v. myself, and I felt rather like a condemned prisoner waiting to be marched off to the executioner. Thus, it was a decidedly less-than-oojah-cum-spiff Bertram who made his way down to the breakfast table. I moodily picked at my ham-and-e., wondering where everyone else had got to. 

I decided to toddle round the grounds for a bit, hoping that a bit of the old physical exertion would raise my spirits, or at least distract me from my impending doom. I legged it outside, heading for the gardens. 

It was at this point that my fortunes began to change. The metaphorical sun poked out from behind the heavy, hanging clouds (the real one still being in hiding – this was England, after all), the breeze merrily frolicked about in the leaves of the trees, and the bluebird once again began warbling a hopeful tune.

You see, what I came upon in the garden was Stinker Pinker and Stiffy Byng, their arms wrapped around each other in a passionate embrace. Now, normally I would have tiptoed from the scene, seeing as how a gentleman does not hang about when two lovebirds are enjoying a private moment together. However, one of these lovebirds was, officially, still my betrothed, so it seemed that I had some interest in the matter.

‘What-ho, Stiffy, Stinker,’ I said when they had come up for air. 

Stiffy gave a start. Stinker looked somewhat guilty but firmly resolute. F. r. was quite a new look for Stinker, but it rather suited him. Stiffy disentangled herself from Stinker's arms and approached me. ‘I'm very sorry, Bertie; I know you'll be terribly disappointed, but Harold has asked for my hand in marriage and I've accepted,’ she informed me.

‘Oh, well, bad luck and all that,’ I said, trying not to sound too terribly relieved. It might have been construed as a bit insulting if I had let on that I would rather be dead in a ditch than forced to march down the aisle with old Stiffy, spirited girl though she is. I offered my hand to Stinker. ‘Well, the better man obviously prevailed, old chap; no hard feelings, I hope?’

‘Of course not, Bertie,’ he said seriously, shaking the proffered extremity. ‘I'm just glad you're taking it so well. I must admit that I was terribly jealous when I saw you with Stephanie; I see that your spirit is purer than my own.’

‘Yes, well, thou shalt not covet thy old school chum's fiancée and all that, what?’ I said with a somewhat nervous laugh.

Just then I happened to glance over Stiffy's shoulder and saw Aunt Agatha. She was covering ground toward me at an alarming rate, and looked like she was getting ready to begin breathing fire out of her nostrils at any second. I said a quick toodle-pip to Stiffy and Stinker and beat a hasty retreat, deciding that, in this instance, d. was the better part of v.

***

Well, I didn't know exactly how this windfall had come about, but I dashed well knew who was responsible. Jeeves had done it again. I finally tracked him down by waylaying a passing maid, who told me that he was in the servants' hall, playing chess with the butler. I hurried off to find him. I'm afraid that in my excitement, I rather burst into the room, eyes wild and chest heaving, causing the entire gathered domestic staff of Totleigh to eye me as if I might be off my onion. Jeeves merely raised his head calmly from his game. As he looked up at me, he was the picture of servantly decorum, but I could see the gleam in his eye, and it caused quite a flutter in my stomach region.

‘Jeeves, may I have a word, please?’ I said, attempting to regain my customary _sang-froid_.

‘Certainly, sir,’ he replied, rising smoothly and following me from the room.

As soon as we reached the corridor I rounded on him. ‘As you no doubt already know, Jeeves, this Wooster has once again been released from durance vile. I am quite sure that you are responsible for my good fortune. My dear man, tell me everything. How did you manage it?’ I asked.

He cleared his throat. ‘Well, sir, yesterday evening I took the liberty of informing Mr Pinker that I had overheard Miss Byng crying most piteously, confiding in Miss Bassett that she secretly retained feelings for him, but could not marry him because he did not have the means to support a wife. I then pointed out to Mr Pinker that Sir Watkyn Bassett would be going shooting this morning, an endeavour which never fails to leave him in a convivial frame of mind, and suggested that he approach Sir Watkyn out in the field and request his assistance in securing a vicarage so that he could marry Miss Byng.’ He gave a gentle cough. ‘This plan had the added benefit that, out in the open meadow where Sir Watkyn does his shooting, there are no silver cases or other objects over which Mr Pinker could inadvertently trip.’

‘And it fell out just like that, eh, Jeeves?’ I asked, impressed.

‘Indeed, sir. I believe it assisted Mr Pinker's cause that Sir Watkyn Bassett would prefer that Miss Byng marry almost anyone rather than yourself, sir.’

‘Well, that's certainly true,’ I acknowledged. ‘In fact, that same wheeze has come in handy before, what? It seems that the prospect of young Bertram as a son-in-law, or nephew-in-law, as the case may be, is enough to give most old birds quite a nasty jar.’

‘ _Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose_ , sir,’ he murmured. 

‘Yes, quite,’ I said. ‘Well put.’ Jeeves had come through again with flying colours, and truthfully it made me a bit giddy. I felt the need to express my gratitude properly. ‘Er, Jeeves, I believe I need some assistance with… something… in the bedroom,’ I said.

‘Very good, sir,’ he said, the gleam returning to his eye.

We walked down the corridor together, Jeeves at my shoulder, and I could feel his heat radiating through me. It seemed forever until we reached the room, but finally we were alone together, within the privacy of my allotted bedchamber.

As Jeeves locked the door, I went over and leaned against the armoire in a kind of insouciant pose. When he turned to me, I gave him my best come-hither eyes, and he did. Come hither, I mean. He forcefully pushed me up against the armoire, causing my pulse to rather quicken, and then he began kissing me. His hands made quick work of my coat, tie, collar, and shirt, even though his lips never left mine. Somehow I never seem able to concentrate on anything when Jeeves is kissing me, so his clothes remained intact. Jeeves has an amazing ability to undress the young master no matter what else is going on – must be something they teach at valet school. 

Anyway, matters were progressing, and I was feeling rather bucked up, if you know what I mean. Jeeves had got his hand down the front of my trousers and his mouth on my neck. By this time I was rather gasping like a landed fish. Suddenly there was an ear-splitting banging at the door. We flew apart.

‘Open this door at once! I know you're in there!’ came the not-so-dulcet tones of an unmistakably enraged Stiffy Byng. After a moment of frozen panic, we realized the door was locked and relaxed a bit. Nevertheless, the mood was irretrievably ruined.

‘Open the door or I shall break it down!’ she cried. 

‘I suggest we comply, sir,’ Jeeves said. ‘I believe her threat is not an idle one; the lady is of a most determined temperament.’

‘I know, Jeeves; trust me, I bally well know,’ I said with a slight shiver.

Jeeves smoothed his hair, which had got rather ruffled from our recent activities. This done, he looked as impeccable as always. I immediately wanted to ruffle him again, but instead I quickly buttoned up my trousers and put my shirt back on. I was contemplating my collar and tie when Jeeves said, ‘I should not worry, sir. If Miss Byng inquires, I shall tell her that the door was locked because you were disrobing in preparation for your bath.’

He floated over to the door and opened it. Stiffy trounced in and glared at me suspiciously. I pasted my best innocent look across the old Wooster dial. Her glare deepened.

‘All right, I know he's in here. Are you going to tell me where he is or do I have to search this room?’

I looked at Jeeves, but he was as puzzled as I. ‘Where who is, old thing? What on God's green e. are you on about?’

‘Don't you play the fool with me, Bertie Wooster!’ she said. ‘I know you've got that friend of yours hidden in here, that horrible Fink-Nottle. He's broken Madeline's heart for the last time. He's going to apologize to her, and then I'm going to box his ears before I turn him out on the street.’

‘I'm afraid I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about,’ I said airily. ‘I don't have anybody hidden and you're welcome to search, but you'll – ‘

At this point I was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a sneeze. It was coming from inside the armoire against which Jeeves and I had so recently been leaning.

Jeeves and I looked at each other in horror. That is to say, my jaw dropped open and I gawped helplessly, while Jeeves's eyebrows raised just a fraction.

‘Oh, you needn't bother with that surprised act, it won't work with me,’ Stiffy told me. ‘You'd never make an actor, anyway. Your expression is ridiculously exaggerated. Now open that armoire.’

In a daze, I did as she said. She stood behind me as I opened the armoire door, and Gussie Fink-Nottle immediately came tumbling out. ‘Thank goodness it's you, Bertie,’ he said. ‘That frightful Stephanie is looking for me and I – ‘ Quick as a snake, Stiffy shot out from behind me and grabbed Gussie by the ear. 

‘All right, you're coming with me,’ she said. She marched him out of the room as Gussie whined pitifully and I could hear her ticking him off properly as they went down the corridor.

Jeeves locked the door behind them and I sagged into a handy chair. For some time we merely looked at each other. Then, in wordless mutual accord, we began searching the room. Jeeves looked in the closet, behind the curtains, and under the bed, while I re-checked the armoire in case some other cove had stuffed himself in there behind Gussie, and then I looked in each of the drawers in the chest-of-drawers thingummy. Well, I mean to say, I suppose it would have been rather difficult for a chap to fit in a drawer, but a fellow couldn't be blamed for being cautious, what?

After we had satisfied ourselves that there was no one else in the room, we sat on the bed. Well, Jeeves sat; I rather collapsed.

‘Well, Jeeves, that was a bit rum,’ I said.

‘Indeed, sir,’ he said.

‘Well, I mean to say, can't a fellow have some privacy in his own bedroom? It's a sad day, Jeeves, when a chap can't assume that he's free to engage in amorous activities with the person of his choice in the sanctuary of his own chambers without having to glance into the wardrobe to look for hidden spies.’

‘Very true, sir.’

‘And what was all that about, anyway? What's old Gussie done now?’

‘I believe, sir, that Miss Bassett discovered Mr Fink-Nottle engaged in indecorous conduct with a parlourmaid, sir,’ he said. ‘I heard something of the matter in the servants' hall a few moments ago, but I'm afraid I was rather distracted and I dismissed the rumour as idle gossip.’

‘Well, it appears to be a bit more than idle gossip, although knowing that poop Gussie, I've no doubt it was some silly misunderstanding. Still, speaking of indecorous conduct and misunderstandings…’ here I trailed off, uncertain how to continue.

‘Indeed, sir. On consideration, I believe it is unlikely that Mr Fink-Nottle witnessed any –ahem– indecorous conduct. It would not be possible to see from inside the armoire, and as Mr Fink-Nottle did not appear to be aware of Miss Byng's presence, despite her elevated tone of voice, it is doubtful that he heard anything of import.’

‘I daresay you're right, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Still, it gave me a nasty turn. I believe I could do with a stiff one. Mix me up one of your finest, would you, Jeeves? Apply the brandy with a liberal hand, and go easy on the soda,’ I instructed.

‘Certainly, sir,’ he said, getting up and doing so. As he handed me the b.-and-s., he cleared his throat.

‘Yes, Jeeves?’ I asked, belting the thing down. It did me a world of good, and I immediately felt a bit more cheery.

‘Although I do not believe Mr. Fink-Nottle witnessed any impropriety, I nevertheless believe that this incident has illustrated the danger of attempting to carry on any further liaisons while resident at Totleigh Towers or, indeed, anywhere other than our own flat.’

‘No liaisons? None at all?’ I asked incredulously.

‘It would be most unwise, sir,’ he said.

‘But Jeeves, not even when I'm in the bath?’ Jeeves had rather got in the habit of providing me, ah, certain personal services while I was in the bath, his own particular method of laying-on of hands, and it had become my favourite part of the entire bathing ritual, better even than splashing about with Ernie (my rubber duck, don't you know).

‘Not even then, sir,’ he said regretfully.

‘I say, Jeeves, that's a bit drastic!’ I said. My usual _joie de vivre_ , which had been picking up again, became distinctly wobbly at the knees with this news.

Jeeves looked at me sternly. ‘I do not believe so, sir. You will recall, sir, that this is not the first occasion upon which some acquaintance of yours has secreted himself inside your rooms. Our understanding leaves us particularly vulnerable to blackmail and to deleterious legal proceedings. Miss Byng has shown herself willing to use the former tactic, and Sir Watkyn Bassett would have no hesitation in carrying out the latter.’

Well, I mean to say, what? The fellow was right, and yet I was awfully disheartened by the whole thing.

‘This is all a bit thick, Jeeves. Just because our circle of acquaintances is made up of sneaks and blackmailers and cantankerous magistrates, it seems awfully unfair that we should have to put the kibosh on any pleasantries between ourselves.’

‘I quite agree, sir, but I would never forgive myself if our understanding were to bring dishonour upon you.’

Well, what could I say to that? I nodded miserably. ‘Right-ho, Jeeves.’ Then another thought floated to the surface of the old nut. ‘I say, Jeeves, now that Gussie and Madeline are on the outs, you know what will happen.’ I gave a shudder. ‘Madeline will turn her sights on me once again. And Aunt Agatha is already on the warpath because of the engagement with Stiffy falling through. And now I can't even turn to you for a bit of comfort. It's a rummy predicament, Jeeves, a rummy predicament indeed.’ I was feeling pretty low, and I daresay there may have been a bit of a quaver in my voice. 

Jeeves looked at me tenderly. ‘I believe, sir, that it may be time to return to London. With your permission, I could arrange a telegram calling us back urgently on some pretext.’

I looked at him with dawning hope. I had nearly forgotten that we had our own apartment, far from prying eyes, would-be fiancées, and fire-breathing aunts. 

‘Yes, Jeeves, please do so at once,’ I said, casting him a grateful look.

‘Very good, sir,’ he said, and melted away.

When Jeeves takes charge of a thing, it happens exactly as it's supposed to, and dashed quickly at that. Before Madeline even had a chance to corner me and tell me we were soul mates because we both admired the morning's first dew on the opening bud or some such tripe, Jeeves and I were packed and ready to head back to our home sweet home in the metrop.

While Jeeves was bunging the luggage into the car, I said my goodbyes to Gussie, who was leaving as well, Stiffy having been as good as her word on the subject of chucking him out on his ear. As I climbed into the two-seater, however, an astonishing sight met my eyes. Madeline Bassett came flying out of the house and leapt into Gussie's arms, bleating that she loved him and forgave him completely. We left the two of them exchanging kisses and nauseating endearments and drove away. 

‘Jeeves, I am agog. How did you find the time to fix up that particular mess between arranging telegrams and packing and whatnot?’ I asked as we sped down the road.

‘Well, sir, it was rather a simple matter, once I spoke with the parlourmaid in question. At my urging, she explained to Miss Bassett that Mr Fink-Nottle had simply been asking her advice on how best to kneel before a young lady when presenting her with a gift such as a diamond necklace.’

‘And was this true, Jeeves?’ I asked, somewhat doubtful. Gussie wasn't really the sort to go about flinging precious gems at _inamoratas_.

He cleared his throat. ‘I fear not, sir, but since Mr Fink-Nottle was actually attempting to retrieve one of his newts which had climbed up the young lady's dress, I believed that a small deception would be preferable to strict honesty, in this instance.’

‘That's all well and good, Jeeves, but now Madeline will be expecting some costly trinket from Gussie,’ I pointed out.

‘Yes, sir, I did mention the matter to Mr Fink-Nottle. I advised him that an outlay of not less than one hundred pounds should procure an ornament of sufficient elegance to assuage Miss Bassett's suspicions.’ His tone held just a touch of relish as he named the sum, and I knew that he was thinking about poor old Gussie hiding in that armoire.

‘Well, all's well that ends well, Jeeves. I shall rest easy knowing that the Bassett menace is once again contained. I salute you, old thing.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

***

When we arrived back at the flat, I felt the need to wash off the dust of Totleigh Towers. Jeeves ran me a bath and I had a bit of a splash about while he was unpacking the bags. While I was soaping up, I felt something tugging at the back of my mind. Something about my recent troubles… and Jeeves glaring at my tie as he told me we had been summoned to go to Totleigh. It wouldn't quite materialise, though, and I let it go with a shrug, launching into a rousing rendition of ‘Goodnight, Vienna,’ or at least the few bars of it that I knew.

As I was toweling off in the bedroom, I watched as Jeeves unpacked my things with his usual calm competence. ‘Jeeves, you are a wonder. Have I thanked you properly for once again retrieving the young master from the pit of despair, also known as engagement to a dreaded female?’

Jeeves gave me a somewhat smug look – just a tiny curl of those expressive (and eminently kissable) lips of his. ‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir,’ he said.

He looked jolly well satisfied with himself, anyway, and something glimmered once again in the back of my mind. All of a sudden that something that had been teasing the Wooster bean during my _toilette_ hit me like a brick. It rather knocked me for a loop, I don't mind saying. ‘I say, Jeeves!’ I exclaimed. ‘I believe you set up that entire situation just because you were pipped at me for wearing that flowered tie!’

‘No, sir, it was mere coincidence,’ he informed me, but I knew it bally well was _not_ a coincidence. 

‘It bally well was _not_ a coincidence,’ I said. ‘Well, all right, maybe Aunt Agatha and Stiffy Byng aren't under your direct control, but you let me dangle out there like a fish on a hook for a dashed long time before you saw fit to rescue me.’

‘Are you dissatisfied with my services, sir?’ he asked, eyeing me rather coolly.

‘No, Jeeves, you fixed up everything splendidly, as you always do. But I daresay there's got to be a better way for you to express your displeasure with the young master's choice of apparel than letting me get entangled with some girl. I'm already entangled, Jeeves, and I don't want to be entangled with anyone else,’ I said rather plaintively.

He looked at me consideringly for a moment.

‘Do you trust me, sir?’ he asked finally, while gazing rather penetratingly into my eyes. I was a bit nettled and wondering what all this was about, but the answer to that question was easy.

‘Of course I do, Jeeves.’

‘Very good, sir,’ he said. And within instants I found myself lying back on the bed, towel gone, wrists bound together to the bedpost with that blasted tie.

‘Jeeves!’ I exclaimed. ‘What the devil are you doing?’

‘You did instruct me, sir,’ he said, ‘to find some other way of expressing my dissatisfaction with That Tie.’ I could actually hear the capitalization as he spoke.

‘But Jeeves,’ I began, and he interrupted.

‘You said that you trusted me, sir. Would you like to amend your answer to that question?’ he asked, and he kept his voice level, but I could see the poor fellow would be hurt if I begged off now. And to tell the truth, the whole situation was causing the rummiest feelings in me. I mean to say, I was rather intrigued to see where all this would go. Certain portions of my anatomy were sitting up and taking notice and telling me in no uncertain terms that these circs were just fine and dandy with them, thank you very much.

‘No, Jeeves, carry on,’ I said, resigning myself to my fate.

‘Very good, sir,’ he said. Then he looked at me seriously and said, ‘If you wish me to stop at any time, you have only to say so, sir.’

‘Right-ho,’ I said, but I knew that I wouldn't take him up on his offer. I did trust the man with my very life, and I knew he'd never do anything to truly hurt me. ‘I say, Jeeves, what are you going to do now?’ I asked, trying not to seem too awfully interested. I didn't fool him, though. I rarely do.

He paused for an instant, considering my words. ‘Do, sir? What would you like me to do?’ he asked, looking at me with a subtle sort of smirk. 

‘Ah, well, _you_ know…’ I said, giving kind of a full body wiggle and trailing off helplessly, giving him my most pathetically beseeching look. I find in most situations that if I let Jeeves know that I haven't got a bally clue, he usually steps in and takes over and everything comes out just fine. Only this time, it didn't seem to be working.

‘No, sir, I _don't_ know,’ he said, still with the aforementioned subtle s. ‘Perhaps you could elucidate.’

‘Well, ah…’ and that's when I caught on. He was going to make me say it! He knows that when we discuss, er, matters pertaining to our more intimate relations I tend to come over all queer and sort of turn red and my usual Wooster eloquence goes shooting out the window. Dash it, I can feel myself blushing now even as I write this.

‘Yes, sir?’ he asked patiently.

‘Er, Jeeves, I want… I want you to touch me,’ I finished desperately, hoping that this would suffice.

‘Touch you, sir?’ he asked with false innocence. ‘Is this what you had in mind, sir?’ he asked, putting one finger on my arm.

‘No, dash it, you know very well that's not what I meant,’ I said with some asperity. 

He merely looked at me with one eyebrow raised a precise fraction of an inch. ‘Well, then, sir, perhaps you could explain more clearly what you meant.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Well, to start with, Jeeves, you could kiss me – a proper kiss, I mean, not one of these pecks that you'd give an aged relation. Put some gusto into it,’ I instructed. The result was gratifying – he immediately leaned over me and began plundering my mouth with his own. I moaned into his mouth, my wrists straining against their bonds as I attempted to follow my natural impulse to wrap my arms around him. Jeeves stopped kissing me for a moment to watch my struggles, his blue eyes going darker and his breath quickening. When I subsided, he began kissing me again, with even more enthusiasm than he had shown before. When we finally broke off, we were both rather gasping for air. I found myself staring into Jeeves's eyes. I had never seen anything like the look his face held just then – sort of dark and dangerous, but tender and loving at the same time. Words can't really do the thing justice, you understand. 

‘Jeeves…’ I said, overwhelmed by some emotion that I couldn't put a name to. He seemed to understand, though, and stroked my hair gently while continuing to gaze into my eyes. After a few moments I collected myself. ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘I feel rather silly like this, while you're still immaculate. I fancy that you're a bit overdressed for this occasion, and I insist that you remedy the situation at once.’

He gave me one of his small upward quirks of the mouth that let me know that I'd said something amusing to him, which always gives me a bit of a thrill. He responded to my request by undressing and setting aside his clothes. I came over a bit dizzy and had to close my eyes for a moment. The sight of my valet naked has the power to do that to me, you see.

When I reopened my eyes, he was standing next to me, gazing at me patiently. I could see he was waiting for my next instruction. I blushed, but gathered my courage and pushed ahead. ‘All right, Jeeves, now I want you to kiss me… but not on the mouth. Sort of, everywhere else except the mouth, if you see what I mean,’ I said. ‘And… feel free to throw in a bit of the old teeth and tongue while you're at it.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, and bent to his task. He began at my neck and worked his way down in a positive whirlwind of sucking, nipping, licking, and kissing. He studiously ignored the part of me which was most prominently begging for attention, working his way around it and back up to my chest. He took my nipple into his mouth and sucked on it, hard, causing me to let out a shout of ecstasy which would likely have resulted in an angry telephone call from Mrs Tinkler-Moulke, our neighbour, had Jeeves not convinced her on a previous occasion that I was a dangerous lunatic who sometimes took it into his head to howl at the moon.

He kept his hands behind his back during all of this and suddenly I wanted them on me. His hands are absolutely first-rate, large and strong, and talented beyond belief to boot. 

‘Jeeves,’ I gasped. ‘Apply the hands to the young master, please.’ He brought them around from behind his back and began stroking my sides and hips, while still focusing his mouth on my nipples.

After a few moments of this I was feeling quite frenzied. My limbs were all a-tremble with anticipation, my heart was pounding like a bally drum, my skin was tingling everywhere, and my unmentionable bits were quite ready for some attention. In short, the prologue was drawing to a close and I was primed to jump into the main action of the thing.

‘Jeeves, please, I need…’ I begged incoherently. Jeeves stopped what he was doing to my chest and looked at me. From what I could see, he looked like he was approaching levels of urgency quite similar to my own, but he still held out, gazing at me with those fathomless eyes of his.

‘What do you need, sir?’ he asked.

Well, if he wanted the goods, he would get them, by Jove! I picked out the ripest, juiciest word I could think of for what I wanted. Now if only I could force it through my lips. A _preux chevalier_ doesn't normally use this sort of language, you understand. However, we Woosters didn't prove our worth at the Battle of Agincourt by meekly retiring in the face of adversity. We have ample courage when the occasion merits it. I sallied forth. ‘I want you… to… bugger me, Jeeves,’ I managed to gasp out. 

I meant to say it with manly forcefulness, but in truth my voice more resembled that of one of the heroines of Jeeves's romantic novels (he thinks I don't know about the stash hidden under his bed). In any case, Jeeves seemed not to mind, as his eyes practically shot sparks out and he breathed, ‘Yes, sir.’

He shimmered away and I was about to kick up a fuss, when I noticed that he hadn't gone far – only over to the wardrobe where he keeps a little bottle of oil. He reappeared directly, kneeling between my legs, which he presently lifted up onto his broad shoulders, slipping a pillow underneath me. He uncapped the bottle and began oiling himself up, while my breathing quickened and I watched with interest, lifting my head as best as I could between my still-restrained arms. The man has the figure of a Greek god. He set the bottle aside and placed one hand on my hip, the other hand on himself as he guided himself to my opening. Normally he gives me a bit of preparation with the old digits, but on this occasion he merely began pushing himself into me. Also, he usually pushes in a bit at a time, giving me time to get used to the feel of him before moving in a bit more. But this time he pushed in steadily, in one long, forceful drive. 

Well it hurt like the dickens, and I don't know if you'll believe me here, but somehow that rather added to the pleasure of the thing. It's a rummy thing, I know. I let out a fairish cry and sort of reared up, twisting against my restraints, but they held fast. I collapsed back onto the bed.

This seemed to have quite an effect on Jeeves, and he let out a deep moan and tightened his grasp on my hips. He said rather hoarsely, ‘Are you quite all right, sir?’

‘Yes, Jeeves… please… more,’ was all I was able to manage.

He closed his eyes briefly and when he opened them back up and locked them on mine, they seemed to have regained that dangerous glitter. He began moving inside of me – not with the gentle, tender cadence that I had come to expect, but rather a forceful, deep rhythm that threatened to cause me to faint dead away from the combination of pain and pleasure. After only a few thrusts, I was crying out unrestrainedly, while twisting and writhing in a most undignified manner. His hands gripped my hips in a way that was certain to leave ten Jeevesian-finger-shaped bruises. He was breathing hard and his eyes continually flickered between my bound wrists, my eyes, and down my body, then back up again to my wrists. The sight certainly seemed to be doing something for him, and while I wasn't quite sure why the Wooster flesh was so appealing to him, I wasn't about to question my good fortune, especially not at this stage of the proceedings.

He continued plumbing my depths, so to speak, while I howled like a banshee and poured out a litany of religious entreaties the likes of which my old childhood pastor had never heard from my lips and most assuredly would not be pleased to witness now. Jeeves's contribution to the dialogue came in the form of harsh panting breaths interspersed with a few low groans. Finally I could tell that he was getting close and I tried one last time. ‘Jeeves, please, touch me now,’ I gasped, unable to come up with anything more eloquent than that. This time he took pity on me and grasped me in his hand, stroking me in time with his thrusts. 

The touch of his lightly calloused hand on me in addition to the feel of him inside of me was bally well beyond bearing, and I climaxed with a shouted ‘Jeeves!,’ spilling over his fist and onto my own stomach. My release seemed to go on and on, and I shuddered helplessly beneath the onslaught. Through my rather impressive haze of euphoria (if that's the word I want – starts with a eu-, anyway), I heard Jeeves give a final guttural groan and felt him pulse inside me as he reached his own release.

After a longish few moments, Jeeves pulled out, which caused another shudder to run through me. Lowering my legs gently, he went around to where my wrists were bound and quickly undid the knot he had tied, massaging the red marks on my wrists while I flexed my fingers to try to get rid of the pins and needles. Heedless of the mess still on my midsection, he got into bed next to me and pulled me to him. Jeeves and I can both wear the mask when the occasion warrants it, but this was not such an occ. We clung to each other for several minutes, wordless and trembling. 

When we had both recovered our wits, he shimmered off to the bathroom to clean himself up, and returned with a cloth, performing the same service for me. When he got back in bed he was looking at me rather apprehensively, if that’s the word I want – as if he feared he had done something wrong, by Jove! I couldn't allow Jeeves to look so shamefaced when I was feeling right as rain, boomps-a-daisy, and all that, so I flung myself into his arms, pressing a kiss to those shapely lips of his, which he returned with interest. The kiss, I mean.

‘Jeeves,’ I said with an utterly contented sigh, ‘that was, well, absolutely marvelous. Topping, first-rate, and all that. You know best, as always. Consider yourself at liberty to dispose of that tie.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, looking somewhat relieved and quite fulfilled himself. Then he gave a gentle cough. ‘However, I believe we should keep the article.’

‘But, Jeeves,’ I protested, ‘you hate it! And anyway, I’ll never be able to wear the dashed thing again without thinking about… well… the rather _risqué_ use to which we put it. I should go about distracted all day long!’

Jeeves looked as if this prospect was not entirely unappealing to him, but said, ‘Sir, I did not necessarily intend that you should _wear_ the item again. I merely advocate retaining it for future use.’ 

Well, that put quite a different face on the thing. I'm afraid I looked at him rather like an over-eager puppy hoping for a bit of a scratch on the tummy and said, ‘Jeeves, I bow to your superior intellect. You are one in a million.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘I would also like to point out, sir, that if you were to purchase other objectionable items in the future, I may be forced to take strong measures.’ With this dire warning, he gave me a last, lingering kiss and lay back, closing his eyes.

I settled into his embrace and began a mental review of the inventory at my tailor's. I remembered seeing a perfectly ripping belt there the last time I visited – sort of an ornate tooled leather affair with a whacking big brass buckle. Jeeves was sure to despise it. I made a mental note to buy the thing straight away. My last thought as I drifted off to sleep, Jeeves's arms wrapped firmly around me, was to wonder if I'd be able to screw up the bally nerve to tell him exactly what I wanted him to do to me with the thing.


End file.
